


Hardcore UFOs

by ConnieWhelan



Series: Next Sunday A.D. [1]
Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Angst, Joike, M/M, Marijuana, Post-Series, References to Depression, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, multiple POVs, stoner!Joel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnieWhelan/pseuds/ConnieWhelan
Summary: When the Satellite of Love crashes in the woods of Wisconsin, a somewhat worse-for-wear Mike Nelson thinks his ordeal is finally over. But when the Bots are declared the intellectual property of Gizmonic Institute, Mike must enlist the help of a certain Hot Fish Shop manager to win them back.





	1. The Man Who Fell To Earth

**Author's Note:**

> This is dumb as heck, but so much fun to write. Each chapter will focus on a different character with Mike being the first. Nothing overly adult here aside from responsible marijuana usage and some eventual smooching.

WHOOPWHOOP

“Terrain. Pull up.”

Silence.

WHOOPWHOOP

“Terrain. Pull up.”

Silence. Red. Black. Red. Black. Red.

WHOOPWHOooooooooooooOOP

“Terraaaaaaiiiiiiiin. Pull uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-“ Bzzzzzrt. 

Static. Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. 

Cold. Dirt. Grass. RedBlackRedBlackRedBlackRedBlack-

Wait.

Grass. 

Grass!

Get up. Get up and run. Go! 

No. Lungs are fire. Legs are jelly. 

Smoke. Cough. Sputter. Pain. Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker, pain.

“Mike!”

Shakeshakeshake. More pain.

“MIKE!”

More shaking. Mouth tastes vaguely of tin.

“What’s wrong with him? Why is he broken?”

“Because humans aren’t made of molybdenum like you, dummy! They’re all squishy!”

“Maybe if I just put his arm back where it’s supposed to-“

HOLY SHITTING CHRISTBALLS THE PAIN

“I don’t think he liked that.”

“Well, at least I’m doing something. All you ever do is complain!”

“Oh yeah? Just wait until I get my ocular bubble fixed. We’ll see who’s complaining!”

Whatever. Being conscious isn’t worth listening to this. 

Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. Black black black black…

\--  
Bright. 

Too bright. 

Mike raises his arm to block the light only to find that it’s in a massive plaster cast. 

Someone has written “I’m Mike Nelson and I smell” across it in washable marker. Someone else has drawn a unicorn. A third someone has drawn a dick. Huh.

He is vaguely aware of voices nearby, a woman and a man. “Yeah, well, I normally I go out drinkin’ on Friday nights but then my lame brother went and got kidnapped and tortured in outer space for three years before crashing into Brule River State Forest.”

“And you came to visit him? Wow, Eddie. He’s so lucky to have a brother like you.”

“No big deal. Say, when your shift is over, did you wanna maybe head over to Denny’s and get some-“

“MIKE! Eddie, come quick! Mike’s alive!”

“I’ll go get the doctor!” Mike turns his head with some difficulty to see a buxom nurse scurry out of the room. 

Eddie leans against the doorframe and shakes his head in disgust. “Typical. Just as I’m about to reel one in. You always have to make things about you, don’t ya, Mike?”

“Eddie? Wha- where…what?”

He’s cut off by Gypsy, who has hopelessly entangled herself in his IV equipment. “You’re okay! We all thought you weren’t gonna make it! I brought you flowers!”

She grabs a cluster of wilted dandelions out of a styrofoam cup on Mike’s bedside table. “Aren’t they pretty? I tried to draw the Satellite of Love on your cast, too, but I accidentally swallowed the marker before I could finish.”

Well, that explains the dick.

“What’s a dick?”

Oh, shit. He must have said that out loud. 

“It’s, um, it’s not important right now. Gypsy.” He is looking for words but his brain is a dense, thick, soupy…uh, soup? "Where is everybody?"

“Cambot went to charge himself over by the vending machines. Crow and Servo are talking to the FBI agents.”

Mike feels a warm glob of drool work its way down his chin. Oh, god. So much drool. He lifts his arm to wipe it away only to find that it’s in a massive plaster cast.

Someone has written “I’m Mike Nelson and I smell” across it in washable marker. Someone else has drawn a unicorn. A third someone has drawn a- Wait a second. This is not new information. Focus, Nelson. Gypsy’s here and she's talking about something. Something…something…Crow and Servo! That’s it! Crow and Servo and the FBI!

Wait.

“The FBI?”

The drool is cascading freely down his face now, like Niagara Falls or, damn it, what’s another famous waterfall? Isn’t there one in Venezuela that’s like, really big? He has to get rid of it. It’s making it impossible to focus on anything else. He lifts his arm to wipe it away only to find that it’s in a massive plaster- Oh, right. 

Gypsy babbles on, oblivious as ever.

“Well, when we crashed in the woods, the police came because they thought you were a terrariumist so I said ‘He’s not a terrerrorist, he’s Mike!’ and they said 'Holy shirt, what the fudge is that thing?’ At least, I think they said ‘shirt’ and ‘fudge.’ And then one said ‘Oh my gosh, it’s that guy, Michael J. Nelson! He’s been missing from Minneapolis for three years!’ and I said ‘Yeah, because the Scary Guy took him and put him into space!’ And then the FBI showed up but I didn’t get to meet Mulder and Scully.”

There are weights on his eyelids. There have to be. How else could they feel this heavy?

“Gypsy, w-w-we’ve been thrrrough thissss. Mudder and Sully are j-just charrracterssh, okay? They aren’t rrrrrre-“

It’s no use. His eyelids have won. Mike lets them close and gives in to blessed unconsciousness. 

\-- 

He has a concussion, three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a broken arm, and a cavity in his left back molar.

“Tsk-tsk,” sneers the hospital dentist. “It looks like someone hasn’t been going for his regular cleanings every six to eight months.” 

“Ah waahs twapped ih oudder thpathe,” Mike protests around a wad of cotton, but the dentist doesn’t seem to be listening.

\--

“The machine’s going nuts!” exclaims the MRI technician. “You got a metal plate in your head you forgot to tell us about?"

“I was a ball of pure energy at the edge of the universe for a while,” Mike shouts from inside the scanner. “Maybe that has something to do with it?”

"Look, man. If you're not going to take this seriously, I got a whole load of old ladies who'd love to have their appointment moved up." 

Okay then. 

\--

“This is your first direct contact with other human beings in over three years,” says the buxom nurse as she mops his brow with a cool washcloth. “Your immune system’s in shock. No wonder you caught pneumonia.”

She is so pretty. Mike’s fevered brain decides he should tell her. Instead, he coughs a glob of green phlegm all over her nice Hello Kitty scrubs.

\--

“Had you associated with Robinson prior to your imprisonment?” demands the FBI agent. His partner sits in the corner and leers at Mike from behind dark sunglasses. “Did he explain why he built the robots? How did he acquire the technology for such advanced AI? Where is he now?”

“It’s not Joel you want,” Mike insists, although he gets the distinct sense it won’t do any good. “It’s Forrester who shot us into space. Doctor Clayton Forrester. He kidnapped Joel to use as his test subject and Joel built the bots to keep him company on the satellite.”

The agent slams his fist against the desk. "Nelson, you rube! Robinson is a trickster, a confidence man! He hijacked the satellite for his own nefarious purposes and by god, the Bureau won’t rest until we find out what those purposes are!”

“Okay, look,” says Mike, drawing on every ounce of Midwestern politeness he can muster. “Even if what you’re saying is true, why would anyone ever watch _Manos: The Hands of Fate_ voluntarily?”

There is a long silence. “Fair point, Nelson. You’re free to go.”

“Hold on a moment.” The shadowy agent in the corner pipes up. “Are you telling me that the most advanced AI robots ever created were built out of household junk by some pothead space janitor to keep him company while he was forced to watch shitty movies?”

“Something like that,” Mike says. “Except I don’t think he was smoking pot up there. I’m pretty sure that’s just how his eyes look.”

\--

“Do you ever feel anxious?” asks the social worker. 

Does he feel anxious? Crow and Servo have been detained by the FBI in the interest of national security. Gypsy, all 50 feet of her, refuses to leave his bedside. Cambot put himself in power-saving mode and refused to come out of it after Eddie tried to use him to charge his phone. His mom keeps showing up with hot dish after hot dish. Gypsy keeps eating the hot dish even though she can neither taste nor digest food and the poor buxom nurse keeps having to clean it out of her body tube. He wakes up every night gasping for air like a beached whale and he doesn’t know whether it’s pneumonia or if it’s because his lung’s just been re-inflated or if he’s simply traumatized from three years of psychological torment in a personal prison that frequently became unmoored from the confines of space and time. 

“Yeah,” Mike says shakily. “Yeah, I guess that everything that’s happened to me in the last few years has made me pretty anxious.”

The social worker gives him a pitying look and slides a pink brochure across the table. “Mark, have you ever tried mindfulness?”

\--

On the day he’s discharged, the buxom nurse hands him a bag of personal items recovered from the crash site. Most of it is charred and melted beyond recognition - he’ll have to get poor Gypsy a new picture of Richard Baseheart - but when Mike reaches into the bag and feels the familiar lump of soft wool, there’s a strange surge of warmth in his chest. He pulls out the wonky red sweater, Mike-sized on one side, too hopelessly Joel-sized on the other for it to ever fit. Not that he’d ever have much reason to wear a sweater that said “JOIKE” across the chest in huge yellow letters, but still. It’s nice to have. 

He stands outside the hospital doors and watches his dad bring the station wagon around. Gypsy’s head smiles at him from the way way back; her body tube is lashed to the roof rack. Cambot is strapped into Mike and Eddie’s old car seat - Mom must have dug it out of the basement. God bless Greg and Marlene Nelson. They really are taking this like champs. 

Mike feels the warmth of the sun on his face, breathes in a cleansing rush of fresh air, revels in the sound of sweet birdsong from the nearby trees. He slings his bag over his good arm and walks on shaky legs towards the car.

“SHOTGUN!”

Crow T. Robot, slightly dented but otherwise intact, throws himself across the passenger side door. “Back seat, Nelson. You know the rules.”

“Heeeeeeeeeey, no fair! You know I can’t see that well!” whines Tom Servo. His ocular bubble is woefully cracked and looks to be held together with a wad of clear packing tape. “Oh. Hey, Mike.”

“Crow! Servo!” Mike feels tears prickle behind his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Hurry up, Mike!” says Tom. Dad is already buckling Crow into his seatbelt. “We’re going to miss _Riverdale_!”

Well, at least they're okay. Mike climbs into the back of a car for the first time in three years and resumes his life on solid ground.


	2. It's Just An Illusion Caused By The World Spinning 'Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depictions of depression in this chapter, at least in the sense that Cambot understands it. The Eastman Kodak Museum in Rochester, New York is real and seemed like the ideal place for an artificially intelligent camera to go on vacation.

In the beginning, there was the Creator. The Brothers and the Sister were there too, yes, but the Creator loved you best. You know so. In the late, late, hours of the day cycle, when Brothers and Sister were sleeping, the Creator talked to you and only you. He played you songs and showed you movies and told you tales of EARTH, where Creators come from. 

EARTH is where Creators make electric guitars and Nintendo Wiis and waffles and other such wonderful things. EARTH is where the Eastman Kodak Museum of Rochester, New York is. 

_Rochester? Really?_ asks the Creator. _Of all the places on EARTH, that's where you want to go?_

You think in pictures. It is difficult to speak. But the Creator knows what your bleeps and whirrs and chirps mean. He always knows. 

_We'll get home someday, Buddy,_ he tells you. _It's a long way to Rochester, but we'll all take a road trip and then we'll spend a whole day at the museum together, just you and me._

There are many Creators, but yours is the best.

Sister loves you. She tells you so when the Brothers are cruel or uncaring, when you lament that the Creator ever built such despicable things. Sister loves you and you love Sister, but the Creator needs you. You can feel it. The Others don't know about the lying in bed, about the leaking face, about the refusal to ingest his fuel no matter how hard you and Sister tried to make it look appetizing. You must get to him soon before something Bad happens.

The Mike is kind. You liked The Mike and now you love The Mike because he finished your new body. But The Mike is big and strong for a Creator. Your Creator is so small. He might break in two! And then what of Cambot?

 

When The Mike brings you to Apartment, the Creator is not there. The Mike senses your disappointment. 

_We'll see him soon, buddy_ he says. _I promise._

The Mike's face leaks too that first night. It didn't do that very often on SATELLITE but when it did, he didn't seem to want you to notice. You nudge the Kleenex box closer to him and hide under the coffee table when he looks up in surprise.

He will take you to the Creator soon and you will all be together and no one's face will have any reason to leak ever again. And the Creator will take you to the Eastman Kodak Museum in Rochester, New York.

 

Except he doesn't take you to the Creator. The Brothers ask, but he always has a reason not to go. _We don't have that kind of gas money. I can't take that kind of time off work. I don't have the kind of patience to spend five hours in a car with you guys fighting._ The Brothers sulk, but they accept it.

 _He left us two times already,_ Brother Crow says to Brother Tom. _Maybe he just doesn't want to see us._

 _Of course he wants to see us, spinach chin!_ says Brother Tom, flailing his useless arms. _He's just afraid to come here because the FBI asked us all those questions about him._

Oh, but The Brothers are stupid. You have played the tapes for the agents, the hours and hours and hours of tapes of the DOCTOR and his cruel friends. They must know by now that the Creator didn't steal SATELLITE! 

Brother Crow is right though, you realize later. The Creator has left you two times already. And when you think it about too much, you feel glad that you don't have a face that can leak.

 

When you power down, you dream of SATELLITE. You try to delay powering down for as long as possible, but even your state-of-the-art battery pack has limitations. At the end of each day cycle, the dreams are waiting for you. In the dreams, there are no Siblings, no Creator, no The Mike, no Eastman Kodak Museum in Rochester, New York. You float through the doors towards the theatre but the corridor keeps getting longer and longer and there is always a next door and a next door and a next. 

You awaken from one such dream to the sound of angry voices coming from the kitchen. The Mike, it sounds like, and Sister.

Sister has a temper here on EARTH. She had one before, but she kept it under control by connecting herself to the ship's computer. Now Sister is wild and willful. You peep around the doorframe to see her facing The Mike, while The Brothers look on agape.

_You said we were going to see Joel soon. You said!_

_And I was. But now I have to take extra temp shifts to pay off the $300 credit card bill that someone racked up online shopping!_

_You don't want us to see him. Admit it! You think we'll like him better than you._

_Th-that's not true._

_It is! It is! You don't care about gas money. You just know that if you take us to Joel, we'll want to go live with him instead!_

_You know what, Gypsy? If you want to get on a bus to Osseo and go live with Joel, fine by me. But as long as you're in *my* house, you respect *my* rules, you got it? And right now, my rule is that you're returning every last one of those Trixie Mattel t-shirts to Hot Topic._

Sister straightens herself up as high as she can go without hitting the ceiling and looks directly into The Mike's eyes.

_You're. Not. My. Real. Dad._

She slithers off to her room and slams the door.

The Mike turns to The Brothers. There is a look on his face you don't recognize. _I'm going for a drive._

You follow him through the living room and out the front door into the parking lot. _I'm fine, Cambot. Really,_ he says, but the Creator used to say that too even though he was very, very sad so you know not to believe it. Creators never say what they mean. The Mike exhales. _Okay. Hop in._

You drive for what feels like a long, long time. The Mike is silent and you can't think of anything to say. Sometimes on SATELLITE, The Mike would sing and you would chirp back the melody and he would tell you that no matter how sad he seemed sometimes, no matter how much he missed EARTH, no matter how bad the movies were, he was always glad to have met you. The Mike doesn't seem glad about anything anymore. Maybe when you see The Creator, he can fix The Mike. He is so good at fixing things.

Eventually, The Mike stops at the frozen custard place he likes and you sit on the hood of the car together in silence. 

_I don't know what I'm going to do with you guys,_ he says. _I'm in over my head here, Cambot._

He is, but you love him too much to let him know you think so. You give your best supportive beep.

_I guess you're right. Let's go home._

 

But when you get home, something is very wrong. The door to the apartment is open and everything is strewn about like it was after SATELLITE crashed. The Mike kneels in the doorway and picks up a small yellow ball. Except it's not just a ball, it's-

_Crow's eye? What the hell happened?_

A typed letter lies on the floor. The Mike snatches it up and reads it, his eyes growing wide.

**Dear Mr. Nelson,**

**It has come to our attention that in your capacity as a temporary worker with Happy Time Temp Agency Inc., you inadvertently acquired top-secret technology that is the intellectual property of Gizmonic Institute. While we at Gizmonic understand the extenuating circumstances involved, your return to Earth requires our repossession of the following Artificial Intelligence Companions (AICs):**

**\- Next Generation Beeper Prototype A  
** \- Ambulatory Molybdenum Alloy Humanoid - Corvid Class  
\- Oversized Computational Service Assistant w/ Mobility Tube Attachment. 

**At this time, the whereabouts of the Modified Portable Video Editing Device remain unknown. If you still have it in your possession, please ship it to Gizmonic Institute International Headquarters in Minneapolis, Minnesota.**

**We hope you were satisfied with your Gizmonic product/s and look forward to your continued business.**

**Cordially yours-**

The Mike drops the letter, his hands shaking. Rising to his feet, he tucks Brother Crow's eye into his pants pocket. _Cambot,_ he says, _I think maybe it's time to find Joel._


	3. Things Like That Drive Me Out Of My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wondered about the exact nature of Dr. Forrester's relationship with Joel ever since the episode where he calls him his Astro Boy Toy.

Oh, but you had loved him once. You might have loved him still, had your heart not twisted and warped into the smouldering wreck that surely pulsed within your chest.

You thought of him in fevered daydreams, in quiet reveries, in the wee small hours of sleepless nights. Who was he, this sleepy-eyed janitor, slight body dwarfed by his red jumpsuit, who would solve your equations in the night like a Midwestern Good Will Hunting? Who was this strange, pale man who spent staff meetings drawing whole worlds on yellow legal paper? This gentle, unassuming fellow who so delighted his colleagues with his Invention Exchanges?

In moments of madness, you longed to whisk him away to Castle Forrester and lavish him with gifts and praise, give him his own workshop and supply his every need until he came to adore you, too. The thought of it makes you giddy even now: Joel Robinson, your very own adoring, submissive houseboy, toiling away in the bowels of the castle to satisfy your every demand. God, but you loved him. Didn’t he know?

Yes, his inventions were often better than yours. And yes, it was somewhat infuriating that a mere janitor could possess a finer scientific mind than your own. But when enough time had passed and he loved you, truly loved you in return, he would let you bask in the glory of his scientific triumphs, content to merely be your kept man.

Fame and fortune were well within your grasp. Project Mystery Science Theater was an explosion of radical creativity that would revolutionize the world of mad science. And each day, you would return home from a long day of tormenting the experiment’s volunteers with terrible movies to find Joel Robinson, willing and pliant, your stalwart companion on the path to world domination. 

You hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand at the Christmas Party. You’d planned it for months - you would ply him all night with Tom & Jerrys, show him the Stationary Orbital Laboratory, and promise him the chance to work on the project in his very own laboratory in Castle Forrester. Those sleepy green eyes would light up at the opportunity and perhaps, perhaps, mind you, you would make wild love to him right there in the docking bay.

You hadn’t counted on him saying no. 

“It’s really neat, sir, but why would I have to move into your…wait, did you say castle?”

“Robinson, don’t you see? Your brilliant mind is wasted down here cleaning load bay pans! The Gizmonic brass don’t know true talent when they see it but I do. For God’s sake, they’re using a magnificent feat of engineering like the S.O.L. Launch Bay to store novelty wiffle bats!”

“It does seem like a serious misuse of resources.”

“Now you’re getting it! Here at Gizmonic, we’re bound by silly things like rules and corporate policy and _ethics._ Come with me to Castle Forrester and together we can rule the world! Um...I mean…in theory. Haha, a figure of speech. Definitely, something I’m only interested in, uh, figuratively.”

“Look, Dr. Forrester, my inventions are just junk, really. I don’t have a college degree or anything and I’m not sure I’m qualified to-

“Oh, Robinson! So humble. So _submissive._ Don’t you know what you to do me?” In a rush of madness, you seized him by the wrists and moved to close the gap between you.

But alas! Alack! He pulled away! Concern flickered across his pale face as he stammered “I-I’m sorry, sir. I’m really flattered and all but I don’t think I want to move up the corporate ladder this way. If you wanted to maybe grab a coffee in the New Year and see where things go from there…”

Goddamnit, you should have taken him up on his offer. You should have settled for coffee and pecan pie at The Big G and maybe some mild necking in the parking lot afterwards and none of the madness of the last six years would have happened. But you have nothing if not your mother’s temper.

“Very well, Joel. We’ll do this the hard way.” 

The Gizmonic Special Edition Barry Bonds Lil' Slugger Children’s Novelty Wiffle Bat packed a surprising wallop. It knocked Joel’s square-framed glasses right off his face. As he lay there on the floor, unconscious, unmoving, you saw how vulnerable he looked, how fragile. You almost felt bad. Almost. But no matter. Now all that was left to do was sling him over your shoulder, sneak him to your car, and whisk him away to the Castle where he’d one day come to love you - you were certain of it. After all, it had worked for Mother more than once.

“Anyway, this is where we keep our giant satellite.”

Oh, poopie. It was Erhardt! That gormless boob was bringing visitors down the corridor! You were ruined! Unless…

The Stationary Orbital Laboratory was not finished. Your beautiful creation had been sitting in the launch bay for years and used mostly as storage for rejected Gizmonic prototypes and various scientific detritus. But now, now it was finally time for it to soar. Looks like you’d have your kept man after all.

“No offence, boobie,” you whispered to the inert Joel as you dragged him up the gangplank. “Just killing two birds with one stone.”

To this day, you swear you could feel your heart begin to twist into the grotesque, blackened thing that now beat inside you as you began the launch sequence. As Erhardt entered the room flanked by two very drunk young ladies, you flung yourself at him. “Oh, God! Lawrence! Joel Robinson has gone mad! He’s stolen the Stationary Orbital Laboratory!”

Your little ruse worked. For nearly three years, you had Joel Robinson right where you wanted him, until the cursed day he crawled into a crate marked “Hamdingers” and out of your life forever. 

Now, in the forgotten husk of what had once been Deep 13, you live the life of a phantom, a cypher, venturing forth at night to steal Combos from the vending machine. Where else can you go? You returned from what you assumed was some sort of Lynch-ian purgatory only to find Castle Forrester empty and your name on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. No one knows the ins and outs of the facility like you do - it wasn’t hard to sneak in. Deep 13 was home once and it would be home again. The world has not heard the last of Dr. Clayton Forrester.

You loved Joel Robinson once and it drove you mad. You will not make the same mistake this time. From deep inside you, you feel the urge to laugh your most evil laugh. “Hahahahaha.” It echoes off the cavernous concrete walls in a most satisfying way. “AHAHAHAHAHA. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-“

“Aw, crap. I must’ve dug the wrong way.” 

No. No, this is madness. A cruel trick of the mind! “Art?”


	4. See You In Heaven If You Make The List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, Crow was the trickiest to write out of everyone.

There are two Crows, really: Before Crow and After Crow. Before Crow was still Joel's Crow: sweet, naive, a little bit manic. After Crow was all Mike: snarky, sarcastic, cynical. Five hundred years of solitude can change a Bot. 

Both Crows are in complete agreement that:

A) Movies made Earth seem totally boss  
and  
B) Movies are filthy, rotten liars

Crow reckons that he'd been the most excited of the bots to see Earth. Could you blame him? Earth had cars and girls and kitties and video games and people to talk to who weren't Tom Servo. Well, Mike drives a beat-up Toyota Corolla and doesn't know any girls and their apartment doesn't allow cats and they can't afford a Playstation and he has to share a bedroom with Tom Servo. Earth sucks. Eat a butt, Earth. 

The worst part? The bedroom isn't even technically a bedroom - it's a linen closet. Mike was already breaking the bank renting a one and a half bedroom apartment and Gypsy needed the full bedroom on account of being 50 feet long. Thus, Mike is stuck on a futon in a glorified den/closet thing and Tom and Crow take turns hot bunking in the linen closet so they don't drive each other nuts. It blows ass.

"Blows ass" isn't the kind of thing Before Crow would have been allowed to say. But After Crow can say it as many times as he wants: blows ass, blows ass, blows ass. Take that, Joel.

Joel really should have prepared him for how much movies lie. Joel should have prepared him for a lot of things.

When Joel left, Crow found comfort in the fact that Mike, at least, was too dumb to survive on his own. Sure, Crow had kinda been Joel's favourite and it was hard to see Servo take up all of Mike's attention but at least Mike was there. And even when Mike wasn't there for five hundred years, that was pretty much entirely Crow's own fault.

But Mike wasn't there when the Gizmonic men came. Crow and Tom and Gypsy were left to try to fight them off alone and look how that turned out. 

Before Crow knows that Mike wouldn't have stood a chance against the taser thingie the Gizmonic guys used. The shock had knocked the eye right out of Crow's head; imagine what it could do a squishy human! But After Crow needs something to occupy his mind in robot jail, and right now, hating Mike is really doing the trick.

Robot jail is actually Deep 6, Gizmonic's holding area for defective, deprogrammed, discontinued and otherwise delinquent bots, but really it's robot jail. Crow has seen enough prison movies to know a jail when he sees one. 

Maybe that's why he's not too worried. Prison breaks are pretty easy so long as you've got a rock hammer and a poster of Rita Hayworth, which Crow just so happens to have. REPLICATRON 8000 may have a disturbing penchant for arson, but he'll make you anything you need so long as you agree to be lookout for him when he sneaks RAM chips from the Warden's office. 

The Warden is a very large, very apologetic human guy with big square glasses and a yellow jumpsuit. 

"I'm sorry about this, you guys," he'd said sadly as he'd shown Crow and Servo to their cell. "But rules are rules."

"Fat lot of good that does us," Servo had said but Crow had honestly felt kind of bad for him. On the Satellite of Love, rules had been straightforward stuff like "No hitting" and "Everybody takes turns emptying the load bay pans" and "Don't put sharp things in Mike." On Earth, everything is rules and most of them don't even make sense. Deep 6 may blow serious ass, but as far as Crow can tell, the Warden is just as miserable as the inmates are.

The rules of Deep 6, as far as he's gathered are these:  
1) No consorting with the lady robots in Deep 6B  
2) No escaping  
3) No releasing the bot in Confinement Chamber 13

Crow can handle the first one, but the second and third are proving much harder to follow. For one thing, he's already a good ways into his escape tunnel after and for another, he _desperately_ wants to know what would happen if he released the mystery bot. 

The tunnel is turning out to be a pretty remarkable feat of engineering if he does say so himself. It might have taken Tim Robbins a bazillion years to make one but humans feel stuff like pain and exhaustion. Crow does not. And so he digs.

He digs when he's mad at Joel.

He digs when he's mad at Mike.

He digs when he's mad at Tom Servo for making friends with the other bots instead of helping him escape. 

He digs and digs and digs for what he guesses is six days and nights, judging by the number of times Mike has taken Crow's left eye out of his pants pocket and set it on the nightstand. 

He digs and digs and digs and digs and removes pieces of pipe and covers the resultant holes with cardboard until he finally, finally, breaks through to the utility corridor behind the cell block. Victory! He's seen this movie, too. Now all he needs is to the follow the corridor until-

"Crow?"

Oh, ass. 

Crow peers back down the tunnel to see Tom Servo holding up one edge of the Rita Hayworth poster. 

"Oh. Uh, hey, Servo."

"Are...are you escaping?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He sounds sad. Whatever. That's something Before Crow would have cared about. 

"Yeah, I'm blowing this popsicle stand. Gonna try and hitch a ride to Mexico. Say goodbye to REPLICATRON for me."

"But-" Servo holds out little piece of black felt with some glitter glue stars on it. "But I made you this eyepatch in the arts and crafts room."

Crow may be made of molybdenum, but he's not made of stone. He shimmies back through the tunnel and takes the tiny eyepatch. "Thanks, Servo. That's really neat."

He stretches the elastic over his head cage and fits the eyepatch into place.

"Wow!" gasps Servo. "You look boss! Say, Princess says he'll give you that tattoo of Kim Cattrall you wanted if you play Connect Four with him. He's a tough old industrial vacuum cleaner, but he really does have a heart of gold."

"Servo, you're not listening to me. I'm escaping."

"Oh. Like, right now?"

"Yes, right now."

Servo flails his stupid arms. "But what about the revolution? You said you would help."

Again with the revolution! Ever since they got to Earth, Servo's been all _"Robot rights this"_ and _"legally recognized Robot personhood"_ that. And now he wants to start a _prison riot_ and _demand their freedom_ when it would be a bazillion times easier just to crawl out the tunnel and flag down an 18-wheeler that will take them to Tijuana. 

"Yeah, well, I say a lot of things just to get you to shut up once in awhile."

"So you're just going to abandon us?"

"Us?"

"The other robots, Crow! They're not as advanced as us! Most of them have never even been outside the Institute! They're our friends and they need our help."

"Friends? We've only known them for a week!"

"But they're robots, same as us. And they don't have Mikes or Joels coming to save them"

Okay, that does it. "Servo, you boob! You really think Mike and Joel are coming to save us? Mike's probably happy we're gone! I bet he's moved into Gypsy's bedroom already. And Joel? Need I remind you that he's already left us not once but twice? Face it, Servo. Humans only care about themselves. And the sooner you and your loser friends realize that, the better. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to Mexico."

He tears Rita Hayworth off the wall and clambers back into the tunnel. He can hear Servo calling forlornly after him and Before Crow feels a brief flicker of unbearable sadness before After Crow stomps it out. He creeps along on his belly for a few moments, then pauses to wipe a piece of falling dirt out his eye. And another piece. And another piece. And several more pieces. And...uh-oh.

The freakin' tunnel collapses. Of course it does. Because just like everything else on this dumb planet, Crow's tunnel blows ass. 

For a moment, all he knows is falling. And then he's bouncing across the concrete floor of a cavernous room that seems oddly familiar.

He rises to his feet.

Oh, shit. 

There's a person in here.

A very tall, very bedraggled, very bearded person staring at Crow like he's seen a ghost. Oh, sweet Estelle Winwood, his escape plan is ruined! 

Quick, say something! "Huh," he says, summoning all of his clueless Before Crow charm. "Must've dug the wrong way. Shouldn't have taken that left turn at Albuquerque, am I right? Anyway, I'll just be going now..."

The person steps into the light and it occurs to Crow that if he had a heart, it would have sunk into his stomach. Of course, that would also require a stomach. 

Dr. Clayton Forrester peers at him through filthy glasses. "Art?"


	5. Everything's Clear, Everything's Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Servo writes his memoirs.

_An excerpt from **I, Servo: The Life & Times of Thomas Neville Servo (As Told By Himself) **_

My time in Deep Six, Dear Reader, was a time of great spiritual awakening. It was there, deep in the bowels of Gizmonic Institute, that I became, as the kids say, "woke."

I daresay even the most hard-hearted of men would be moved by the wretched plight of my compatriots. As Crow and I were shown to our cell, we were greeted with a teeming mass of robot humanity in varying states of decay and disrepair. Through endless games of Monopoly Junior and hours of friendly commiseration in the General Purpose Room, I came to learn that these were robots of tremendous utility and dignity. 

One evening, as we played a rollicking round of UNO, I placed a Pick Up Four card on the pile and my friend Princess began to weep. Princess was an industrial vacuum cleaner known for his physical toughness and propensity for prison tattoos. To see him weep openly, Reader, was profoundly unsettling. 

"Princess," I gasped. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," he sniffled, oily tears glistening in his eyeholes. "It's just...I used to pick up stuff once, you know?"

It was then that I realized that as a Bot of privilege, I was societally obligated to help my incarcerated brethren achieve the freedom I had once enjoyed. I returned to my cell at lights out determined to foment rebellion amongst my fellow inmates.

My brother, Crow, however, had other ideas. In retrospect, I should have seen right through his claim that he was "digging for fossils." His newfound interest in Paleolithic flora was certainly plausible, but he had never before expressed attraction to Rita Hayworth. (She's certainly no Estelle Winwood.) However, it soon became apparent that he was planning to tunnel out of the prison and leave me behind.

I was hurt, Reader, for Crow is my brother and was also briefly my husband and I believed that our bond, forged in the fires of Forrester's mad experiment, was unbreakable. But in truth, Crow and I had been steadily growing apart since our encounter at the the edge of the universe. (I suspect his jealousy over my status as Joel's favourite may have been a contributing factor.)

Still, I felt wounded as I watched his shiny golden behind shimmy down the makeshift tunnel. "No matter," I told myself. "Be as the mighty oak, Thomas, and never let them see you cry." But when the tunnel collapsed and I heard my brother fall into the very bowels of the earth, I broke down and wept. 

Who would I play Dog and Bear with when I finally escaped this cursed prison? Who would be my playmate, my creative partner, my confidant? Sure, _Earth vs. Soup_ was hackneyed garbage and Crow could be an absolute pill when he got going. But he was my brother, and the thought of an eternity without him left me utterly bereft. I began to hack away at the pile of rubble with my unarticulated arms, calling for my compatriots to assist me. Slowly, we rebuilt Crow's shoddy tunnel and I peered deep into the gaping chasm that had swallowed him.

"There's no way we can get down there," REPLICATRON 8000 exclaimed. "That must go down at least fifty feet. How would we ever get back up?" 

But ah, Reader, you and I both know of someone at least fifty feet long.  
"Friends," I said. 

"This story shall the good man teach his son;  
And September 12th shall ne'er go by,  
From this day to the ending of the world,  
But we in it shall be remember'd;  
We few, we happy few, we band of bots;  
For he to-day that sheds his oil with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,  
This day shall gentle his condition:  
And gentlemen in Minneapolis now a-bed  
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Bot Liberation Day!"

There was silence from the assembled. I realized that perhaps my new friends did not know of Kenneth Branagh. 

I sighed. "Let's start a riot, you guys."

\---

The plan was ingenious in its simplicity - REPLICATRON 8000 and I entered the Warden's Office under the pretense of asking him to sign up for Fantasy Football. (If I had learned anything from Mike Nelson, it was that all human beings loved and respected the Green Bay Packers.) The Warden was a good sort, really, and I felt some qualms about deceiving him this way. Yes, he was our jailer, but can any profession truly be called ethical under capitalism?

My uncertainty gave way to delight as I watched REPLICATRON quietly make a copy of the Warden's key ring. With our captor's fantasy team finally drafted, REPLICATRON and I returned to the cell block to meet with the others.

"Friends," I said, "What we are about to do is almost certainly foolhardy and reckless, for whatever lies behind the door of Confinement Chamber 13 may present a very real danger to humanity. But I ask you, is our humanity not equally important? If you cut us, do we not bleed?'

"No," said Princess. "We don't have any blood. We're robots."

I sighed heavily and vowed to teach my companions the value of literary devices once we had escaped.

With some difficulty, I managed to unlock the door of the chamber and peer inside. At first, there was only darkness. "Huh," I said. "I could have sworn..."

Immediately I was tackled by the cell's occupant and sent crashing to the floor. I rose back into a hovering position, dazed. The Bot Formerly of Confinement Chamber 13 had begun his terrible rampage, but I did not have time to sit and watch. Taking advantage of the chaos, I slipped out the door to Deep 6 and sped across the hall to Deep 6B, where I found my beloved sister waiting for me.

"Gypsy!" I cried. "Come quick, there's no time to explain!" 

Grabbing her by one foam lip, I rocketed toward the tunnel dragging Gypsy behind me. She put up a mighty holler, but heroically, I did not stop until I reached my destination."Crow's down there! I need you to lower me down to him." 

"Alright," she said, her lip falling to the ground. "But on one condition."

"Gypsy!" I exclaimed, incredulous. "Our brother's life is at stake!"

"I know," replied Gypsy, "but I heard you guys are starting a Fantasy Football league and personally I think it's a little bit sexist that you didn't ask us girls if we'd like to join in." 

"For the love of God, Gypsy! There was no Fantasy Football! It was a ruse to get the Warden's keys!"

"But if it had been real, would you have asked us?"

"I...we-"

"I knew it! Well let me tell you something, Tom Servo. Joel always told us that the gender binary is regressive and unscientific and ultimately destructive to men as well as w-"

"Okay, fine! When we get out of here, we'll start a gender-inclusive Fantasy Football league, just you and me."

Gypsy beamed. "Thank you for doing your part to overthrow the patriarchy, Tom." Reader, if I had eyes, I would have rolled them. 

With a mighty splat, Gypsy anchored herself to the wall and opened her mouth wide. I hopped inside and we began our descent.

\---

When Gypsy opened her mouth again, I found myself in a great, darkened room. In the light of Gypsy's head, I could make out some rock walls and a concrete floor. 

"A'hll waif fuh ya hee," said Gypsy. 

"Sorry, Gyps. Didn't catch that."

Gypsy spat me out. "I'll wait for you here."

"Thanks, kid. You're the best little sister a Bot could ask for," I said, fondly.

"I know," she replied and blinked her flashlight once to show that she was winking. "Good luck, Tom."

I hovered softly through the darkened cavern, feeling my way along the rocky walls until I came upon two shadowy figures huddled around the flame of an Acetylene-Powered Thunder Lizard. The first silhouette was unmistakably that of Crow, but the second one was either that of an ape-man or a particularly haggard human. 

"Crow," I cried! "Thank heavens you're alive! Who's your friend?"

The second figure turned to face me and I could see that it was indeed a particularly haggard human. A particularly haggard human that sounded a lot like-

"Tom Servo!" Dr. Forrester exclaimed, slinging one filthy arm around my shoulders. "So glad you could join us. Why, Art here was just telling me about all the indignities you've suffered under Nelson and Robinson."

"Indignities?" I replied. "Never! Mike and Joel have always been good to us! And as soon as Crow and I get out of here, we're going to find them."

"Oh, but we know that isn't true, don't we, Art?" Dr. Forrester sneered. "Art told me all about it, Servo. All about how Joel came back to visit and then left you behind?" 

"That's not true, Crow!" I proclaimed, looking my brother in his good eye. "He risked his life to come fix the satellite. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't love us."

Dr. Forrester laughed his wretched laugh. "And what about Nelson, that great boob? Penniless, friendless, living in _Milwaukee_."

"That's not fair," I said. "Mike's doing his best. He's raising four bots all by himself."

"Ah, Joel Robinson. Look at the discord you've sown," Dr. Forrester chuckled. "That's the kind of man your creator was, Art. The kind of man who built you for a life of imprisonment and servitude, the kind of man who let an innocent suffer in his place, the kind of man who abandoned you twice. Think about what I'm offering you, Art. You're a formidable piece of technology. Together, you and I can make Gizmonic great again and have our revenge on those who've wronged us."

"Crow, be reasonable" I protested. "Joel's ship was made out of junk! It probably..." It was then, Reader, that the terrible thought that I had tried so hard not to think finally took hold. Suddenly, even my hoverskirt could not keep me aloft; I sank dejectedly to the concrete floor. "It probably burned up in the Earth's atmosphere, Crow. Joel didn't take us with him because he knew we probably weren't going to make it.That's why Mike hasn't taken us to see him - Joel's... he's gone."

Silence.

The weight of my words sat heavily upon us all.

"Nope," said Crow.

"Now, Crow," I began. "The first stage of grief is den-"

"Ssh!" said Crow. "I'm trying to focus." He lifted up his eye-patch and rubbed at his empty socket. "I see...I see a hand! A big, fleshy, meaty hand!"

"That's Mike!" I cried. 

"And he's holding my eye. We're in an apartment? A messy apartment. Full of wires and gizmos and half-finished inventions. And there's another hand, a smaller one. A left hand! With a great big silver ring! It's Joel, Servo! It's Joel!"

"Impossible," scoffed Forrester, but I could see he was shaken.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"They're running outside to a...panel van? With a mural on the side? Oh, lame! We're being recused by Timothy van Patten!"

"Never mind Timothy van Patten, Crow! We're being recused! Come on!" 

With renewed wind in my hoverskirt, I grapsed Crow's hand and together we sprinted towards Gypsy. She opened her jaw wide and we both clambered into her maw as Dr. Forrester looked on, aghast.

"But Art!' the pitiful Forrester mewled. "You can't go! What will become of me?"

"If you can find a long-haul trucker, I hear Tijuana's pretty nice," Crow replied. "But watch out. Ass, gas, or grass: no one rides for free. Take us up, Gypsy."


	6. And I'm Floating In A Most Peculiar Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't see much of Eddie in the series proper, but he's intriguing.

Look, man. Eddie will be the first to admit he's not the greatest brother in the world, okay? Or the greatest son. Or the greatest boyfriend. Or the greatest employee. Or the greatest...you get the idea. Eddie's a loser, might as well admit it. Mike got the looks, Mike got the brains, and Mike got to be the first human being in history to travel through time. All Eddie got was a way with the ladies, a knack for hydroponics, and a hard-won knowledge of the criminal justice system. 

"You've got me, too," Lauren reminds him when he gets like this. And that's true - Lauren's pretty rad. She took such good care of Mike when he was in the hospital that Eddie was honestly in love with her before he noticed her ginormous rack. She was sweet to Greg and Marlene and she was sweet to those doofy robots and she's sweet to Eddie too even though he doesn't deserve it. Lauren is far and away the best thing that's ever happened to Eddie, and he'll do anything, anything, to make sure he doesn't fuck this up. So it figures that Mike shows up in a panic with a crackpot story about robot jail on the day she's moving her stuff in.

"Eddie, I gotta borrow the van, man. I need to get to Hopkins like, yesterday, and I don't think the Camry's gonna make it."

"Where the heck is Hopkins?" asks Lauren. She gathers Mike's little round robot up in her arms and kisses the top of its...head? The robot lights up red. "Awww," says Lauren. "No need to blush, Cambot. We're family!"

"Hopkins, Minnesota," Mike pants. "It's just outside Minneapolis and I desperately need to get to the post office there."

Lauren's eyes go wide. "Is it the other Bots? Did something happen?"

Mike pulls a letter out of his pocket and hands it to Lauren. She gasps. "But...but they can't do that! They're not property of Gizmonic Institute! They're the Bots!"

"I know," Mike says. "I need to find their creator because I think technically we could argue that they're his intellectual property. But he's had to go into hiding ever since he was falsely accused of highjacking the Satellite of Love."

"So how do you plan to find him?" Eddie says. "Also, what's the Satellite of Love?"

"The giant orbiting space prison he lived on for three years, dingus," says Lauren. "Keep up."

Mike continues. "Joel came to fix the Satellite one time while we were watching a Joe Estevez movie and slipped a letter under my pillow when we were distracted by TV's Frank. It said that if he survived the trip home, he'd leave me instructions on how to find him in a P.O. box in Hopkins. So I need your panel van so Cambot and I can go to Minnesota and track him down.”

"I have literally no idea what any of that means," says Lauren, "but Eddie would be more than happy to drive you."

"Wait, what?"

"Don't 'Wait, what?' me, Eddie. You're always talking about how you wish you spent more time with Mike. Here's your opportunity!"

For fuck's sake. Mike wasn't supposed to know Eddie actually enjoyed his company. Stupid Lauren and her ginormous heart. It was even bigger than her ginormous rack. 

“Okay. Just let me clean all the crap out of the back first."

\---

They make the entire five hour and ten minute drive to Hopkins in complete silence. Every now and then, Eddie thinks he should say something. But how do you start a conversation with a guy who's been tortured in space for three years? 

"Hey, little brother. Sorry you covered a temp shift for me when I was hungover and you ended up getting blasted into space."

"Hey, Mikey. Remember when you were super-depressed after Denise died and I convinced you to drop out of college and come work at a shitty temp agency with your no-good brother?"

"What's up, Mike? Say, remember when I did that stint in juvie for stealing a Zamboni and Mom and Dad had to miss your starring role in the Whitefish Bay High School production of _Anything Goes_ to come to my sentencing hearing?"

There's no getting around it: Eddie's a shit-ass big brother. And three years of getting sober and getting a decent job and getting a real nice girlfriend can't undo the fact that he's been high-key ruining Mike's life since 1987.

Well, Mike loves those stupid robots. And Eddie loves Mike, even though he'd rather cheer for the Minnesota Vikings than admit it. So maybe if Eddie comes through now, he and Mike can finally be Even Steven and Eddie can stop feeling like such a fucking goof.

Cambot bleeps as they pull into the parking lot of the Hopkins Post Office.

"I think you'd better wait in the van, bud," Eddie says. "We're not that far outside Minny. Somebody from Gizmo-whatever might see you."

"He's right, Cambot," says Mike when Cambot whines. "I'll be right back. I promise he's not gonna use you to charge his phone again, are you, Eddie?" 

"For fuck's sake, is it still mad about that?"

Mike slams the passenger side door shut. Eddie stares at Cambot. Cambot stares at Eddie. 

"Hey, man. If your boy Joel didn't mean for you to be used as a phone charger, he shouldn't have build you with so many USB ports."

_Beep._

Eddie doesn't speak beep, but he knows an insult when he hears one. "Hey, don't you start with that. I drove you here didn't I? I'm a good guy."

_Chirp. Bloop._

"Look, it's not like I meet robots every day! How was I supposed to know you'd be offended?"

_Whirrrrrrr._

"Yeah, well, no one said you had to like me. But I've got a van and you don’t so tough titties, pal.”

They’re interrupted by Mike clambering back into the passenger seat holding a manila envelope and a road map. 

"Typical Joel. It’s a treasure hunt. He’s left clues for us all over the Greater Twin Cities Area leading to his location. It could take days to find him.”

For fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t Even Steven ever be easy? “I’ll call the dairy and tell them I won’t be in for a while.”

\---

This Joel character is a sly little bastard. From their home base at the Aqua City Motel, Eddie, Mike, and Cambot spend the next six days poring over the dozens of puzzles and clues Joel has scattered across the city. Well, Mike and Cambot do; Eddie can't figure those puzzles out for shit. He makes coffee runs and grabs Mike some extra clothes at Target and drives from a Hot Fish Shop in Osseo to an old movie house in Edina to a creepy park in Minnetonka to a weird industrial park in Eden Prairie and just keeps feeling dumber and dumber. Mike is a brain and judging from all of the references to books and movies and philosophy and shit in the clues, Joel is kind of a crazy genius. Eddie's just a meathead trying to help any way he can. 

Most of the clues refer to stuff from the movies they were forced to watch on the Satellite, and it means hours of combing through all the footage Cambot has stored in his hard drive. (Little fucker had no problem using his USB port to plug into the TV, apparently.) Joel's awkward as hell on camera, but there's a kind of goofy charm to him that makes Eddie think he'd be fun to have a beer with. And as much as it kills him to admit it, it's nice to see Mike genuinely laughing again.

It's Friday night and Mike is sitting cross-legged on his bed scribbling on a motel note pad. The Eden Prairie clue sits on front of him, scrawled on the back of a Hot Fish Shop menu.

"So, he's definitely in Osseo. Even I can figure that much out," says Eddie. "But what does the clue say?"

Mike furrows his brow like he does when one of those paperbacks he's always reading gets interesting. "They're all experiment-related, but I think I've seen enough footage now to figure it out:"

\- The experiment in which we met Mr. B. Natural (45)  
\- The number of times we said "Snausages" in The Painted Hills minus ten (7)  
\- The installment in the Master Ninja series in which Timothy Van Patten goes to the cannery (2)  
\- The last letter of Experiment 13 (N)

\- 100 minus Neil Connery's call number (93)  
\- The height of the giant gila monster in feet minus the total number of Bert I. Gordon experiments (23)  
\- The first experiment we ever watched was released in 19- (58)  
\- The last letter of a molybdenum-based robot's first name (W)

"45, 7, 2, N, 93, 23, 58, W...These are coordinates! Cambot, can you look them up for me?"

Cambot bloops and whirrs and beeps something that Mike seems to understand. "Alright then. I'm not sure why he'd be in the middle of a cornfield just outside Osseo, but then again, he's a pretty weird dude."

"Oh, shut up," says Eddie. "You've got a total boner for him and you know it."

Mike turns redder than whatever that monkey is with the big red ass. "What...what makes you say that?"

Oh, fuck. That was supposed to be a joke. "Uh, nothing, bro. Not implying anything. Just uh, yanking your chain." Christ, that sounded gay. "I mean, pumping your tires." Fuck. "I mean, I'm just riding your ass, you know?"

Mike stares at him for a long minute. "Let's get to the van."

\---

They drive out to the sketchiest-looking cornfield Eddie's ever seen and somehow manage to get the van down the sketchiest-looking dirt road Eddie's ever seen to a decrepit tin shack thing that is, of course, the sketchiest-looking decrepit tin shack thing that Eddie's ever seen.

"Uh, Mike? Are we sure Joel's not a serial killer?"

Cambot bleeps. Mike just rolls his eyes and hops out of the van. Eddie trudges reluctantly after him.

"I was kidding!" he says to Cambot. "You're too sensitive, you know that?"

Cambot whirrs accusingly. 

"Jesus Christ, would you two knock it off? You're worse than Crow and Servo." Mike shakes his head at both of them before knocking on the door to the creepy shack. Eddie hunkers down into his leather jacket and tries to look imposing. When several locks click and the door finally creaks open to reveal Joel Robinson in torn jeans and an old Hold Steady t-shirt, he realizes he needn't have bothered. Joel looks like hell. 

He's scrawnier than he was on the footage and he's got great big bags under his eyes that his horn-rimmed glasses are only making look worse. The familiar smell of day-old pot smoke wafts from inside the shack. Eddie is taken aback; for a crazy super-genius, Joel sure looks an awful lot like your standard white stoner dude from the Midwest. 

"Mike? You found me?"

"Yeah, uh, it took us a while but we-"

He's interrupted by Cambot launching himself into Joel's arms at full speed. Joel catches him like a football and cradles him to his chest. 

"Cambot! You're okay!"

_Beep!_

"I missed you too, tiny friend."

_Whirrrrrrrrr!_

"I know! It looks great on you."

_Chiiiiiiirp bleep whoop!_

Joel looks over at Eddie. "Yeah, I can see the resemblance."

That's it. "Goddammit, does everyone speak Robot but me?"

"It's easy enough to pick up once you get your head around a few key sounds," says Joel. "I can teach you if you like."

"This isn't a social call, unfortunately." Mike shoves his hands in his pockets the way he did when they were kids and he had tell Mom and Dad that Eddie was in trouble again. "Can we come in?"

\---

By the time they reach Gizmonic Headquarters, the road is lined with cop cars all the way from the front gates of the institute to the Big G drive-thru. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d swear that he just saw two burly cops throwing a gigantic, sentient Shop-Vac into the back of paddywagon. “What the hell is going on here?”

“It’s a prison riot!” Joel was grinning like a maniac. “I’m so proud of those little assholes!”

“Oh, so the contempt for the rule of law was your doing,” says Mike. “I knew I should have cancelled Servo’s subscription to _Mother Jones._ ”

“Cancel his subscription? Listen, Nelson. Censorship of radical leftist ideologies goes against everything I programmed the Bots to stand for!”

“Yeah, well, socialism may have worked in outer space but it sure as hell doesn’t work here on Earth. Excuse me for trying to prepare them for the real world.”

“Okay, but like, what even is the real world anyway?” 

Mike and Eddie both turn around in their seats to face to Joel, who shrugs.

“I’m sorry, man. I totally blazed one right before you knocked on my door.”

“But you make a good point,” Eddie says gruffly. “How is any of what you guys have been through even remotely related to the real world? I mean, look at me. When all this is over, I’m going to go back to working nine to five at a dairy in suburban Milwaukee. My girlfriend and I will live in our crappy apartment until we can afford a crappy house and have a crappy kid and maybe we’ll visit Disneyworld or some other lame-ass place in Florida a couple times before we croak. You guys have been to fucking outer space, man. You travelled to the edge of the known universe and built smart-ass robots and met Hugh Beaumont. You’re not the real world: you’re Joel Robinson and Mike Nelson, two brainiacs from Wisconsin who changed everything we know about Earth and space and science and just...I don’t know, what it is to, like, be a person.” 

He’s honestly never said that much at one time in his whole life. Mike looks down at his shoes. Joel rubs his eyes. 

“Eddie, everything you just said was beautiful and life-affirming and all, but could you maybe say it all to me again when I’m less high?” 

“Oh, holy shit!” Mike practically leaps out of the van. “Tom Servo!” 

Eddie and Joel book it after him only to find a bunch of cops trying to arrest an honest-to-god talking gumball machine. 

“Fiends! Brigands! Unhand me, you rapacious thugs! Police brutality!”

“Attica!” someone shouts and Eddie realizes with amazement that it could only have been Cambot.

“Hey, you _can_ talk!” 

“Let him go!” Mike throws himself into the fray and snatches Servo our of the air. “He’s just a little robot!” 

“Yeah,” says Joel, doing his best to restrain a furious Cambot. “Pick on someone your own size!”

"This robot is the leader of a radical underground movement that threatens national security," says the toughest-looking cop, shaking his nightstick at Joel. "And he's under arrest for sedition under the Minnesota Sedition Act of 1917."

Minnesota Sedition Act? Why does that sound so familiar?

"Now hold on a minute," says Mike. "I thought the bots were the intellectual property of Gizmonic Institute. How can you arrest them if they're legally considered property?" 

"Mike's right," says Joel. 'And besides, does Minnesota trademark registration law even apply to things invented in outer space?"

Intellectual property? Trademark registration? Oh, shit, Eddie knows where he's heard that before!

"Excuse me, Officer," he says. "But I happen to know a little bit about both the Minnesota Sedition Act of 1917 and Minnesota trademark registration law."

"Oh, this should be good," says the toughest-looking cop.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" hisses Mike. 

Eddie plows on. "In senior year, I, um, _allegedly_ spray-painted an anarchy symbol on the side of a Zamboni and crashed it into a mailbox. The cops attempted to charge me under the Minnesota Sedition Act of 1917, which apparently hadn't been used since like the 40's when they were looking for Germans or communists or some shit. Anyway, I ended up getting booked on run-of-the-mill vandalism and theft charges because that Act was like, majorly unconstitutional, but the law says-"

"Whoever knowingly or willfully advocates, abets, advises, or teaches the duty, necessity, desirability, or propriety of overthrowing or destroying the government of the United States or the government of any State..." says Cambot.

Huh. Guess the little guy had his uses after all. 

" _Whoever_ ," says Mike, a smile spreading across his face, "As in person. Not _whatever_ , as in thing."

"Right!" says Eddie. "Now, funny thing is, I didn't actually steal a Zamboni. The Zamboni people wanted that made very clear in the news. See, they had registered the Zamboni trademark so in court we had to call it an 'ice resurfacer.' Because the inventor of any good or service has the right to restrict the usage of the trademarked name by competitors."

Joel grins. Mike claps Eddie on the back in a way that seems...proud? Jesus, did he really do something right for once?

"So which is it, dummies?" Servo exclaims triumphantly. "Are we 'whoever?'or are we 'goods and services?' Seems to me like you need to figure that out before you can detain us for any reason."

The toughest-looking cop sighs. "Well, shit. They've got a point. Let 'em go, boys. The last thing we want is to get sued by a talking gumball machine."

A cheer goes up from the freed robots. 

"This isn't over," Servo shouts at the retreating cops. "We're going to take this to the Supreme Court!" 

"We will, buddy. Don't worry," says Joel. "But for now, how's about we head to IHOP and do some catching up?"

"Aren't you a wanted man?" Mike asks. 

"I think if the last ten minutes have proved anything," says Joel, "it's that Minnesota law seems to be conveniently open to interpretation. And also I haven't waffles in like three years."

"Fair enough," says Eddie. "Gather the rest of your robot friends. I'll bring the van around."

"Hey, Eddie?" Eddie turns to see Mike smiling at him. "You did good."

"Anytime, little bro," Eddie says, and books it back to the van so that Mike can't see him getting all teary. 

He finds one of the Bots waiting for him. "Hey, the little gold guy! Crow, right? I guess you got all singed and dirty on your way out, huh? Look at you, you're all black!"

Crow just stares at him. Weird. Eddie could have sworn that Crow talked in the footage.

"Well, whatever. Joel'll get you cleaned up good as new. Hop in."

Crow fixes Eddie in his silent gaze for a long moment and then climbs into the back of the van.

"Nelson" Eddie says aloud, "looks you finally got something right."

"SHOTGUN!"

Crow hops up into the passenger seat. "Oh, hey. You must be Eddie. Unless I didn't put my eye back in properly and you're just a distorted Mike."

Wait a sec. If Crow's up here, who the hell- Oh, shit.


	7. With Just A Touch Of My Burning Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gee, you're a strange little man. Where did you come from, anyhoo?"

darkness

timmy is by itself

no light for timmy. no. 

timmy is a bad bot

 

soon time

timmy will hurt

timmy will crush

but now it wait

yes

wait

 

then...

light!

it is free! 

hurt the red bot! 

yes!

 

run run run

smash smash smash

yes yes yes

timmy go go go

free free free

a good feel is timmy

 

out of side

it has no time see out of side

sky so bigness

wait!

fleshy fleshy men they hurt timmy! they hurt!

no no no

fight

shout

run free

 

yes 

fleshy man say noise to timmy

timmy go in of side fleshy man metal box

VROOM VROOM!

no

no

it is brother

and red bot

and tiny bad jole

no like jole nonono

 

SCREAM!

CRASH!

AWAY!

 

away away away

into the bigness

away for freeness

now free times always

free free free

a good feel is timmy


	8. Mars Ain't The Kind Of Place To Raise Your Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite bot finally gets her chance to shine.

_An Excerpt From The Diary Of Miss Gypsy Nelson-Robinson_

Dear Diary:

You’ll never guess what’s happened! Sometimes I wait for you to guess after I say that but then I remember that you can’t guess because you are a diary. 

Court is not as exciting as _Law and Order: SVU_ made it seem. First of all, there is no Olivia Benson which is a bummer because she is one of my sheroes. Second, you have to be real quiet and ever since I don’t have to plug in to the ship anymore, it seems like I can’t ever be quiet.

That’s why I haven’t written in you since Timmy made the van crash, Diary. Every night when I came back to the hotel, I was so tired from being quiet that I powered down right away. Well, that’s not true. I also powered down so I wouldn’t have to look at Mike and see him be sad because of me. 

I don’t know why I was so mean to Mike that time. Maybe I was getting my period. (I don’t know what a period is but _Seventeen _magazine says that it happens to girls my age)__

__People say mean, mean stuff about you in court, Diary. It was real hard not to stretch up to the ceiling and say “LIAR!” when the Gizmonic lawyers were talking. Our lawyer was the monkey man and his brain friend and they mostly did good, even if we had to tell the court that the monkey man had Her-Suit-Ism and his brain friend had Allo-peesh-a._ _

__There were nine judges, six old men and three old ladies, which seems unfair. The leader was Chief Justice, who I thought would look super cool but is actually just a guy. They all asked us lots of questions, except for the little old lady judge with the big glasses who sat on the very end of the bench. She was very quiet. I wondered she was quiet for real or just trying to be quiet like me._ _

__Everybody tried their best, but the Gizmonic guys told everybody that we couldn’t be that smart because Joel did lots of drugs and Mike dropped out of college and that knowing lots of references doesn’t make a person smart anyway. It was too hard for Cambot to testify because they wouldn’t let him use to text-to-speech for his answers and Crow was sassy to the lawyers and Servo was doing real, real good until he started crying._ _

__It was all up to me._ _

__I was super scared to go up in the witness stand but I said “Water off a duck’s back” like Jinkx Monsoon and it helped a little._ _

__“State your name for the record, miss,” said the monkey man._ _

__“Gypsy,” I said._ _

__“And tell us a little bit about yourself, Gypsy.”_ _

__“Well, I said. “I’m just a normal, All-American teenage girl, really. I like WD-40 smoothies, and operating heavy machinery, and seeing how many encyclopedias I can fit in my mouth.”_ _

__The judges all looked at me funny and I could tell that they didn’t think those things were as fun as I do. “I’m also the mod of the most popular Richard Baseheart fansite on Tumblr!” I added._ _

__“Wait.” The quiet little old lady judge at the end of the bench sat up straight and looked right at me. “Did you say Richard Baseheart?”_ _

__“Uh-huh,” I said. “I think he’s dreamy.”_ _

__The little old lady judge smiled at me. ”He certainly has a commanding screen presence and a steely charm."_ _

__"He does!"_ _

__"And despite his large and varied body of work, he remains conspicuously absent from discussions of the greatest American actors of the 20th century."_ _

__"He's so underrated."_ _

__"Truly an actor's actor. He wasn't showy and I think that's why he was often overlooked."__

__“Yeah! Yeah!”_ _

__The little old lady judge leaned back in her big chair. “So tell me something, Miss Gypsy. I've told you why I like Richard Baseheart. Why do you like him?"_ _

__I didn't know what to say. No one had ever asked me that before. I looked over at Joel and he smiled at me. I looked over at Mike and he waved. I felt real rotten right then, Diary, because even though I was a b-i-t-c-h to Mike, Mike was so good and kind that he was still here helping me._ _

__Mike and Joel were good and kind. And I knew that because a very special actor had taught me what good and kind was._ _

__"Well," I said, "Richard Baseheart is good and Richard Baseheart is kind and-" I looked right at Mike and hoped real hard that he understood. "And if Richard Baseheart said a mean thing to somebody when he was mad, something that wasn't really true to try and hurt the person's feelings, Richard Baseheart would feel real bad about it. And he'd want to let that person know more than anything that it was mean and he shouldn't have said it and that he's sorry."_ _

__The judges were quiet for a minute._ _

__"Miss Gypsy,” said the little old lady one. “Did you come up with that all by yourself?"_ _

__"I did, Your Honor.”_ _

__"And is that really how you feel?"_ _

__"Oh, yes!"_ _

__"And Mr. Robinson and Mr. Nelson never talked with you about Richard Baseheart?"_ _

__"Oh, no. Nobody ever wants to talk to me about Richard Baseheart. 'Shut up about Richard Baseheart, Gypsy!' they say."_ _

__Judge Little Old Lady looked hard at Joel. "Mr. Robinson, how long has the young lady displayed this particular fascination?"_ _

__"Honestly, she started pretty early on," Joel said. "I used to ask her basic arithmetic questions to test her processing capabilities and she always answered 'Richard Baseheart.' "_ _

__"Sometimes when Joel first made us," said Crow, "he didn't want to do much except lie down in his room. So we watched a lot of TV.” I saw Mike turn to Joel and make a sad face. I don’t think Joel noticed._ _

__"Yeah," said Servo. "There are lots of old shows bouncing around up there in the atmosphere. We used to pick them up through Cambot."_ _

__"DY-NO-MITE!" said Cambot._ _

__"I don't remember much from back then," I said, "because I was still pretty dumb."_ _

__"She was a boy back then, actually," said Crow._ _

__"Oh, yeah! I forgot all about that!" said Servo._ _

__"Kiss my grits!" said Cambot._ _

“But,” I said, ignoring stupid Crow, “I do remember _Voyage To the Bottom Of The Sea_ was my very favourite. I thought about Richard Baseheart all the time, so sometimes I said his name when I didn't mean to. And even when Joel updated my processor, I still thought about him." 

__"So you're telling me," said Judge Little Old Lady. "You're telling me that you started liking Richard Baseheart all by yourself? Mr. Robinson didn't tell you about him? The other robots didn't mention him to you at all?"_ _

__"Nope," I said proudly. "It was all in my noggin."_ _

__"So you sought out information, processed it, drew your own conclusions from it, and modified your behaviour going forward without anyone's help?"_ _

__"I sure did," I said. I was a little confused but everyone seemed proud of me so I just tried to go along with it._ _

__“Hmmmm,” said the judge. “Well, I think this calls for a recess.”_ _

__“Yay! Recess!” I said but Joel said “Not the fun kind of recess, honey” and we all had to go sit in the hall._ _

__As soon as we got outside, Mike hugged me around the head and told me that everything was okay and even though things were actually extra bad, I kind of believed him. We waited for hours and hours, and by the time they came to get us, we had all fallen asleep._ _

We all went into the courtroom and sat down. Cambot sat in Crow’s lap and Crow held Tom Servo’s hand and Tom kind of awkwardly put his other arm around my body tube and sometimes I am mad that Joel only made me brothers and not a cool twin sister like in _The Parent Trap,_ but today I was very glad to have brothers, Diary. 

__The judges all came back in and we had to stand up again and we were all holding hands so we crashed to the floor and made a big noise and when I looked back up at Mike and Joel they were making awkward faces._ _

__“Please be seated,” said Chief Justice. But we were all tangled up in my body tube by that point so we just lay on the floor._ _

__”Ladies and gentlemen," said Chief Justice. "I think we owe these robots an apology."_ _

Everyone in the courtroom gasped like they do on _Law & Order: SVU._ I know deep down that Olivia Benson probably isn’t real, but I pretended she was there too. 

__"These robots," Chief Justice continued, "have been forced to come here and prove their humanity when all along they've been the most human of us all. As Ms. Gypsy here has demonstrated, they absorb stimuli, process it, develop personal preferences based on it, and allow those preferences to shape their self-concept and guide their interactions with the world around them. In doing so, they have developed personalities distinct from those of their creator and caretaker. It would not only be unconstitutional to treat these wondrous beings as mere personal property but unethical. And so it is the verdict of the United States Supreme Court that robots are from this day forward persons, and shall be afforded all the rights of a citizen of the United States.”_ _

__It was panda-monium, Diary! All our prison friends rushed forward and suddenly there was this big tangle of robots hugging each other except they were all weird broken Deep Six robots and they kept getting caught in my body tube and it took Mike and Joel and Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor a whole hour to get us all free._ _

We are back at the hotel right now and tomorrow Mike and I are going to go on a tour of all the places from _Fallout 3._ Even though I am Joel's favourite, I know Mike still loves me a whole lot. 

Now, I promised you that you’d never guess what happened today, Diary, so get ready because it’s a doozy: I took a Buzzfeed quiz for which _Riverdale_ character I am and got ARCHIE’S DAD! 

This is dumb and wrong because I am definitely a Cheryl Blossom and not an old man, even if that old man used to be Dylan from _90210_ and besides, I am not even a Dylan. I am a Donna Martin! I am so mad that I might ask Joel to help me send a self-addressed stamped envelope to the Buzzfeed people. First of all, I am a Cheryl because… 

_(entry continues for several pages)_


	9. Grey Men With Telescopes Are Gazing Right Into Her Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for indulging me with this.

Joel finally picks up his last paycheque from the Hot Fish Shop in late September. It’s made out to “Tommy Lightwood,” yet another reminder that he needs to figure out a way to stop being legally dead. 

Gizmonic had gone through a lot of trouble to declare him as such after he’d escaped from the Satellite of Love. He’d found his Charley Project page and his NAMUS entry floating around on the internet, but it wasn’t until the Man Or Astroman? tour was over and he’d made it to the American embassy in Melbourne that he realized the gravity of the situation. 

Just as well, he’d thought. Life as Joel Robinson had kind of been a bust anyway. Might as well start over as Mr. Thomas Neville Lightwood. And with his three-bean salad making skills, surely a low-key gig as a Hot Fish Shop manager would be good for a fresh start.

And you know? Despite the whole crushing loneliness and paralyzing guilt thing, it was going pretty good. And then he heard the story on the news about the spacecraft crashing in the woods of Wisconsin and those FBI guys started poking around Osseo and Tommy Lightwood had to skip out on his shift and go into hiding in a dilapidated Quonset hut on the outskirts of town. 

The legally dead Joel Robinson pulls his beat-up VW Beetle into the driveway of said Quonset hut, now retrofitted into an attractive two-storey workshop with modern living quarters and a rooftop deck. He picks his way through the already-cluttered workshop, past the nooks and crannies the bots have claimed as their bedrooms, and climbs the stairs to the apartment. 

“What’s new?” calls Mike from the kitchen. 

“Still dead.” says Joel. 

“That sucks. Gypsy and Ruth Bader Ginsburg are pen pals now. I’ll ask her to mention your situation in her next letter.”

It occurs to Joel that if he ever stops and thinks, really thinks, about how weird his life is, he’ll go completely insane.

“What’s for dinner?” 

“I called Mom for her mac and cheese recipe. I figured I’d give it a shot since the chilli turned out so well.” 

“You’ve been awfully domestic lately.” 

Mike appears in the doorway in an apron at least two sizes too small. “Yeah, well. I figured I better make myself useful if I’m gonna be living here.”

“You’re plenty useful.”

“I’m not. But you’re sweet.”

“You are useful,” Joel wants to say. “You make sure I don’t sleep for days at a time and you bring me grilled cheese when I’ve been down in my workshop for too long and you keep the Bots entertained when I’m having an off day and you’re always down to hang out with me.” But that’s a lot of words to say at one time so instead he says “They’re showing _The Blob_ at the drive-in tonight.”

And then Mike says “Ah, young Steve McQueen. It’s a date.” which is really the most ambiguous and confusing thing he could have possibly said. 

Ambiguity and confusion have kind of been ruling Joel’s life lately. He swallows hard. “I’ll go get the radio set up. See you on the roof at seven.”

——— 

The giant screen of the Galaxy Drive-In is clearly visible from the rooftop deck and if Joel dicks around with an old AM radio, he can pick up the audio signal. Mike spreads out a blanket and Joel packs a bowl and they smoke in silence while the dancing refreshments sing the “Let’s All Go To The Lobby” song. 

“Those fucking cannibals,” says Mike with disgust.

“Hey, I didn’t know you cussed!”

“Fucking cannibals is what they are,” Mike says emphatically. “Telling the humans to come eat their friends.”

“But does that really make them cannibals though? I mean, do they also eat their friends or do they just tell the humans to do it?”

“They seem aware that their friends are delicious; ergo, we can assume that they have sampled their friends and loved ones at some point.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“See? It’s fucked up.”

Joel lies back on the blanket in a haze of mac-and-cheese/marijuana-induced bliss. “I wish we could have been on the Satellite together.”

Mike sighs heavily. “Me too.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you back with me that time.”

Mike frowns. “You saved my life.” 

“Yeah, but it wasn’t…I couldn’t…”

“Hey.” Mike puts his hand on Joel’s knee. “You did enough.” 

Joel looks at Mike’s hand and Mike looks at Joel and neither of them says anything so Mike just leaves it there. It’s kind of nice. 

"Geez, it's cold all of a sudden," says Joel, kind of hoping maybe Mike will lie down on the blanket beside him. But instead Mike says "Hold on a second,” and clambers back through the window. 

Well, he fucked that up. He sits up and tries to focus on The Blob in all its red, goopy glory.

“Think fast!” A wad of red, itchy wool smacks him in the side of the head.

“Nice one, Nelson. What the heck is this?” 

“It’s a sweater. Put it on.”

Joel unfolds the sweater to see "JOIKE" emblazoned across the chest in big yellow letters. 

"Yeah," says Mike. "Gypsy started it for you and then I turned up and I guess "JOIKE" made sense in her brain. I could never wear it because half of it is you-sized and I'm, you know, not."

Oh, Gypsy. His weird, sweet space daughter. What strange little people he and Mike had created. ”This is, really and truly, the greatest thing I have ever owned in my life. Thank you." Joel wriggles into the sweater. It fits his right side perfectly, but completely envelops his left side like a big yarn-y blob.

What if The Blob was made of yarn? Would it leave a little trail of lint as it oozed along? Would it still technically ooze if it was yarn? How come The Blob didn't get, y'know, rocks and twigs and dirt and stuff all caught up in its body goo? In the movie it's a smooth, translucent red thing but what would it feel like? Would it feel like those sticky hands you got from a vending machine? Or would be more of a Silly Putty-type deal? Did it smell like plastic? Those sticky hands always smelled like plastic. And they left weird greasy stains on the car window and Mom would get mad. Did The Blob leave stains? Regardless, it probably didn't smell awesome. 

Mike nudges his foot with the toe of his battered black Converse.

"Joel? You greening out on me?"

"Oh, no, I was just...When I was a kid, I shipped The Blob and Flubber."

Mike nods. "Makes sense."

They're quiet for a long, weird moment. The drive-in audio crackles over the radio. 

_"You know, plenty of people in their right minds thought they saw stuff like flying saucers. The light was just right in the angle of the imagination. And oh boy if that's what this is, this is just an ordinary night, and you and I are going to go home to sleep, and tomorrow the sun will shine just like yesterday, good old yesterday."_

"Hey," says Mike, turning towards him. "Do you think you could use The Blob to pick up comic strips like you can with Silly Putty?"

"No," Joel replies, surprised at how sad the thought makes him. "You couldn't because newspapers no longer use petroleum-based inks."

Joel will replay that moment in his head at least a thousand times in all their years together. He’ll replay it when Gypsy starts high school, when Crow signs his first advance from a publisher, when Tom Servo wins a seat on Osseo City Council, when he and Cambot stroll along Lake Ontario after a day at the Eastman Kodak Museum. He'll replay it when Eddie and Lauren have their first kid, when Mike graduates teacher's college, when they all have an extremely strange family vacation at Pearl's palace in Qatar. And he'll replay it the day he reopens the old Gizmonic headquarters as the Wenonah Academic Facility For Lost Electronics. 

But Joel has his whole life ahead of him to ponder exactly why his stoned musings on petroleum-based inks were what made Mike finally lean in and kiss him. For now, let’s allow him the luxury of this weird little moment in time: two awkward dudes kissing on a rooftop in the Greater Minneapolis Area, high as fuck and supremely grateful for a robot-free evening.


End file.
